


Remnant

by blubu



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Other, and struggling to connect with existence, basically just the knight dissociating, grimm and knight is only mentioned, grimm dead lol, i say nice because its not great, i will die for the grimmchild watch me, kinda angsty with a nice end, pk still a bad dad, they're trying their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blubu/pseuds/blubu
Summary: The Knight knows it cannot bear a connection with the Kingdom or its inhabitants, so why does it?





	Remnant

**Author's Note:**

> if its kinda confusing,, i alter between referring to the knight as "it" and "them" depending on the pov of the story. like,,,,,, if its from the pov of a vessel or someone who has no strong opinion about/dislikes vessels, they will be referred to as "it". if its from the pov of someone familiar and who likes the vessels they'll be "they"  
> hope that isnT confusing ajbdfsjdf

The Vessel was created with an objective. A task. A job. A sacrifice. And despite it being deemed a failure, it still had that objective rooted to its very being. It was stuck to it, like the prickly vines that had woven itself through the greenery of Hallownest; like the White Lady who had rooted herself forever in her Gardens; like the infection that bubbled and grasped onto the deformed husks and vengeflies of the Infected Crossroads.

 

It was an objective that could not be so easily tossed away.

 

It was almost like the mindless bugs it so frequently slaid on its adventures. Nearly mindless, entire being controlled by some other or predetermined force. They attacked it viciously for the point of destroying such a shadow on the infection’s behalf, yet it attacked on the behalf of an objective created by a greedy and selfish King.

 

Not only a King, it reminded itself. A father.

 

That was an idea more foreign than even the thought of not having to go down the path it had set itself on. The Pale Coward, its father ― how? How had it been created by such a thing?

It didn’t know and didn’t _ want  _ to know. It disconnected itself from him, too.

 

In its time at Kingdom’s Edge, it had frequently witnessed the passing of the flittering flakes of ashes blowing with the rushing of the wind. It wondered where each flake was headed ―wherever the wind did? But where was the  _ wind  _ headed? And why was it headed there? Did such things as the wind and those flakes of ash have even more of a conscious than it? Could they feel the impending end that would soon sweep across such a fallen Kingdom?

 

_ Flee, O remnants of past, _ it hummed silently,  _ and never be born again. _

 

They were all just shapes to it. Not people, not life, just shapes the Vessel sometimes managed to pass by. They didn’t matter to it in the long scheme of things anyway, so why should it associate those shapes with a person, their words with a personality, and their goal with an echoing remnant of Hallownest’s promises? To it they were things.

 

Though that wasn’t right, was it? Was it fair to them that the Vessel saw them as shapes and colors, while they seemed to see it as a friend? A partner, weaving its shadows with their flames? A Ghost of a fallen Kingdom, and a sibling?

 

It wasn’t fair of it, though it could not help it. They were things, and it was it. It was not they, they were not it, and they were  _ more  _ than it. Not just in terms of their usually much larger sizes, but because of their own goals set by themselves and the personalities that weaved themselves over time. The Vessel was an echo, a remnant, and it was not them. It could not be them. Even if it wanted to.

 

But it  _ didn’t  _ want to, it told itself, because such thoughts and feelings were fleeting and only interfered with its objective. It didn’t want to have likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends or even wants themselves. It didn’t need them, it told itself, because just like thoughts they were fleeting and they were unimportant. Unless they were contributing to the success and furthering its goal, they were only shapes, and they were only colors.

 

It let such thoughts drift as its stub legs made its way through the fog and mist of Fog Canyon. The Grimmchild had been tucked in its arms, for it could not afford the little monster to shoot its flames at any oomas and result in them being injured by their blasts.

 

It mostly worried for the child in these situations, because what would they do if it was not here with them? Blindly attack until they learned the consequences of such actions?  _ Die? _

 

That left it with something displeasing in its gut. It did not want to face the possibilities of such fates falling upon the Grimmchild. It did not know why. Is that what it meant to be a parent? It wished its own father had seen it the same way.

 

It stepped into the ruination of Queen’s Station, the child having fallen asleep in its hold. It tilted its head at them, idly scratching just below the child’s chin. They seemed happy, even in sleep and curled up against it.

 

It remembered their father. If there was one other bug it saw as more than just mere shapes and colors, it was Grimm. He was charming, sending the Vessel’s heart of void thumping in its chest through both of their performances―for more reasons than one. 

 

However he was gone, it remembered, and the child was all that remained. Seeing the child so peaceful and knowing how tired they must have been, it decided to stay in the station for a bit longer as to not wake them on the ride with The Old Stag. It sat itself on the edge of one of the platforms where it had previously met Quirrel resting when it had first found the place, tucking the child closer to its body. 

 

It remembered Quirrel. Quirrel, now gone as well, the only remnant of his return to Hallownest being the nail embedded in the shore of Blue Lake. What a shape, it told itself, to become one the Vessel had depended on so.

 

It looked back at the Grimmchild tucked away in its arms. Faintly, it realized it was a  _ part  _ of this child. The two of them, parent and child, were here and they were together and they  _ existed  _ and wasn’t that such a thought? A  _ thought _ ? 

 

It felt ( _ felt? _ ) as if it truly existed in this world. It had always known it existed, but existing in the world, in this world, where remnants of the past echoed, where Ghosts of the past still remained and their stories still lived on even when they didn’t. And wasn’t that great? For some part of you to live on? To still exist in a world that taught you to disappear, that expected you to disappear, and yet remain?

 

It recalled something Quirrel had told it here. That he could still faintly hear the ringing of the bells.

 

And more than that, it could hear the echoes of speaking. Of stags departing left and right, of citizens conversing as they waited for their own ride to work, or back home to their families.

 

They were echoes, and so was it. But it returned. It was made of two voids, and it was here again. It existed in the past, but existed in this world  _ now. _

  
And as its child began to awake, the Vessel knew it still wished to go down that same path, fulfill that same objective, but it would not do it because it was created to. It would do it because there were  _ people _ it wanted to protect, and a Kingdom it  _ wanted  _ to set free.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this bc i kept disconnecting from existence today ajsc


End file.
